Bare Shoulders
by standwithyou
Summary: He hates that this woman, this maddening woman, who hurt him so deeply, so seemingly irrevocably, can still undo him effortlessly. He hates her for it. He hates himself for it. Takes place during The Limey.


**A/N: I know that I haven't updated The Hardest Battle in a while, but I'm working on it. Promise! This idea has been in my mind for months and I'm pretty happy with the result. Please read and review, it makes my day! This is dedicated to Hope6968 for helping me to start the year off on the right foot. **

**Disclaimer: Come on, it's FanFiction, you know how it goes. I own nothing. **

**. . . **

They are at a standstill. They can't request Wyndham's prints without tipping their hand and any other possible leads are dead ends. So she sits at her desk, alert eyes stumbling over the murder board, trying to find a way around the restrictions at hand.

She's not glancing at his chair every ten seconds like he's going to magically reappear there; she isn't obsessing about all of his lunch dates with a blonde, busty flight attendant with a plastic smile and she is _definitely_ not wishing that she is the one sitting across from him, exchanging fleeting, flirty glances while her foot slides up his calf, over his knee until his mouth falls open in a gasp and they rush from the restaurant. She isn't imagining sliding into his lap in the back of a car or him pressing her against a wall, his hands sliding up her shirt and_ finally_ tasting his lips again as she rolls her hips against his and _oh, God, Castle, don't stop_-

Beckett shakes her head and crosses her legs. Well…at least she's good at hiding it.

Colin Hunt sits down next to her and tosses something onto her desk, folding his hands in his lap, with his mouth quirked upward, but all she can think is _get the hell out of my partner's chair_, because even if he hasn't been the Castle she knows lately, he will always be her partner.

Beckett swallows her anger and glares down at her desk, "What is this?"

"Two invitations to a party at the British Consulate. And guess who's going to be there?"

. . .

Kate sits on the edge of her bed in a bra, facing her closet, fully aware that she has to be back at the precinct in an hour. She glances down at the puckered red skin between her breasts, running her fingers over it numbly, wishing once again that it had never scarred her. Sighing, she moves to her closet, reviewing any dresses she can wear to this event.

One garment catches her eye.

Beckett pulls out the red dress, the one he gave her four years ago. Has it really been four years? She brushes her thumbs over the fabric, smiling as she recalls his hand on her back as they swayed together, spinning theories, tossing witty comments back and forth.

Then she remembers how much she misses that, how desperately she yearns for his stories, his touch-

She just misses her Castle.

Her smile, along with the memory, fade and she puts the dress back, but a feeling she cannot exactly pinpoint , an emotion she has not managed to capture for a long time, flares in her chest when she notices how the scarlet fabric stands out, so boldly against the blacks, grays and blues around it.

That's what Rick is, isn't he? A bright, beautiful thing that guides her through the obscurity.

. . .

Castle is in the middle of explaining his elaborate plan to Ryan and Esposito when Inspector Hunt struts in; looking so debonair that Rick has the urge to vomit.

"Has anyone seen Detective Beckett?" The handsome blond asks, but before anyone has the chance to respond, she appears, a vision in black.

He gapes at her openly, the smooth, pale lines of her neck and bare shoulders, her hair twisted into an artful bun and her stunning dips and curves that he used to want to worship, a desire that he has been unsuccessfully repressing. He hates that this woman, this maddening woman, who hurt him so deeply, so seemingly irrevocably, can still undo him effortlessly. He hates her for it. He hates himself for it.

There's too much hate, too much of everything that used to be so clear but now all looks the same.

Then their eyes meet and the fury and pain, like a wave, recedes.

. . .

Kate feels his eyes on her the second she walks into the room. She wants to be angry at him for ignoring her and burning her with all the remarks under his breath that she knows are meant for her, but he's looking at her with a reverence that fills his bright blue eyes with light, albeit a dimmer light than she's used to, but she takes it greedily.

. . .

He catches her looking at him. It's barely a moment, but it's there none the less. She gazes fleetingly at him with this look in her eyes, like she's telling him it's okay to look. Even if he misinterprets the glance, he takes the chance hungrily and rakes his eyes over her, looking as beautiful as ever and it takes all his strength not to tell her.

The moment breaks, leaving him speechless for an instant, before the wave of resentment floods back.

. . .

As she dances with Colin, green eyes scanning the crowd for their target and feeding him half-truths about her past, she catches him trying, but failing, to look at her scar without her noticing. She is fully aware that make-up would not fully camouflage it, but the inspector does not ask, so she doesn't explain.

Because really, who would want to hear that story?

Dancing with Colin felt odd, a little wrong, but mostly uncomfortable, but twirling on the dance floor with Nigel Wyndham's hands on her, hands that most likely are responsible for at least the death of their victim, makes Beckett's skin crawl.

And no matter how hard she tries to deny it, it still feels like she has danced with every man except the one who really matters.

. . .

Risk is sitting in an upscale restaurant, facing Jacinda, only half-listening to her tell him about the 'crazy' life of a flight attendant. He always tries to listen to women on dates like this, because it usually pays off in the end. In the past it has ended in bed, countless times, but tonight he cannot concentrate. It does not take him long to figure out why-it's because he's heard and lived through more interesting stories than the ones she's telling.

He returns his attention to the woman across from him and observes her, trying to find her more appealing that he really does, but he cannot get past images of cascading black fabric against pale, smooth skin. Then his mind is just of blur, images of _her_ smile and _her_ eyes looking at him through dark lashes with longing in her green irises-

But that was all just a tease, wasn't it? It was all a _lie._

He swallows thickly and returns his attention to his date. Jacinda is undoubtedly a beautiful woman, but…

She's not extraordinary.

. . .

Colin takes Wyndham's card case to get tested for prints with an apologetic look in his eyes. Granted, the night had not gone exactly as planned, but they got what they came for, and that's all that matters.

The boys are gone when she gets back to her desk and the rest of the precinct is mostly empty. Castle is nowhere to be seen, which doesn't surprise her since he's been leaving early every night for the last few weeks. She tries to ignore the way his absence settles in her chest, heavy and painful. She's too tired and too powerless, so Beckett retrieves the change of clothes from her desk drawer. Not wanting to have to peel her dress off in a cramped bathroom stall, she walks over to an interview room that has the blinds drawn.

Kate opens the door and freezes when she sees Castle hanging up the phone, a wide grin on his face.

"Was that the flight attendant?" She asks coldly, jealousy boiling beneath the surface.

He wants to keep smiling, cocky and carefree, and say, _yes, Kate, that was Jacinda, the woman who didn't tear my heart out, _but the truth spills out of his mouth instead, "It was Alexis."

"Oh," she says softly, her clothes hanging at her side, forgotten.

The silence stretches on, but he is the one to break it, "Did you get the fingerprint?"

She nods, "Yeah…" Kate wants to ask him why he's here, but she can't decide if she's happy to get moment alone with him or if she wants him to leave and take his attitude with him.

_Oh_, who is she kidding? She's happy to see him, but it's bittersweet, although it's more bitter than sweet.

Rick shoves his hands in his pockets. "So I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

Before she even voices a response he's walking towards the door, but suddenly Kate just _cannot_ let him leave.

Beckett steps in front of him and places a hand on his chest, noticing his sharp, controlled breathing. Castle furrows his brow, asking a silent question, his mouth open like he's about to say something, but then the words are out of her mouth before she has a time to think about their impact.

"Will you dance with me?"

His sapphire eyes widen, "What?" He murmurs.

Kate does not explain; doesn't think it's necessary. The brunette detective places her clothes on the table next to them and drifts closer to him, the air between them thick with words unspoken. She cannot look him in the eye; she's too scared of what she might find there, so she grabs his hands, needing only to place them on her hips before he wordlessly snakes his arms around her. Beckett moves her hands slowly up his chest and around his neck, her fingers drawn to the soft hair at the nape of his neck. She pauses, and then tentatively lays her head on his shoulder, her lips hovering dangerously close to his neck.

Then they start to move together, swaying to music that only exists between them.

She expects comments from him, like _how can we dance if there is no music? _Or _if I didn't know any better, I'd think you're trying to feel me up_, but they don't come. It both terrifies her and leaves her breathless.

Castle feels weak. Wonderfully and deliciously weak, because she's touching him, her hands running over his back and shoulders and he can barely stop the shivers that wrack his body because every time she breathes he can feel it on his throat. Her lips ghost over his neck, so light that he doubts it was intentional, but he can't help but pull her closer and move a hand towards the exposed skin on her back.

He inhales sharply and tilts his face towards hers when his fingertips dance across her spine, and Castle can feel her softly against him.

_Is he really touching her?_

Rick knows that he shouldn't tease himself like this, let her tease him, but as hard as he tries, he can't resist her. He's never been able to and deep down in his aching heart he knows he never will.

He feels pathetic.

But he can't stop.

Rick's fingers are brushing delicately across her skin, trailing up her back to her neck and over her collar bone. She never wants him to stop, but she wants more.

_No. _

Kate Beckett doesn't just want him anymore. She hasn't for a long time. That want evolved, bloomed into a reckless need that beats inside of her constantly, aching to be fulfilled. The desire has been there for a while, making it even more present lately, searing, seething, igniting in her blood when he's near and when he isn't, but she thinks that it's even worse now because she knows she may never have the chance to satisfy her always lingering thirst for him. Beckett resolve is worn down, fading away with each passing second…and then it's gone.

All of Rick's emotions are battling within him, pulling at his insides, but then her lips are pressed softly against his neck as her hand cradles his cheek and all of his thoughts evaporate, leaving only the feeling of her mouth on his body.

Castle has no idea what to do, so he just tightens his hold on her as her mouth drifts upwards, her lips caressing his jaw. He groans and closes his eyes, but then she is pulling back and he opens his eyes to look at her. Lust has darkened her green eyes to almost brown, her breathing uneven and he doesn't think he has ever wanted her _this _badly before.

Beckett's eyes flick down to his lips, and then she's leaning in, resting her forehead against his, fighting to pull him as close as possible with her hands. He can barely breathe with her body heat radiating off of her and her scent surrounding him, their breathing entwined. His lips are so close she can almost feel them against her own and she can barely contain her need to feel his mouth, hot and wanton against hers, like that night in the alley, but _so_ much better because this time she knows it's real.

Kate parts her lips and leans forward, but then he is pulling away, holding her so that she cannot follow him. She opens her eyes and finds him staring at the ground with his brow furrowed.

"Rick…" She pleads.

He looks at her and a tight knot forms in her chest because she has never seen him so broken.

Castle squeezes her shoulder and goes to move past her, but stops, helpless, and places a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth. He lingers there, the words _don't leave_ caught in her throat, but then he exits the room, the door closing with an unyielding finality.

Kate takes a deep, shuddering breath and leans against the table, willing herself not to cry because she knows that when she turns around, he is not going to be there.


End file.
